


Faith In Us

by luciblue



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s04e20 Evidence of Things Not Seen, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-12 12:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18446615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciblue/pseuds/luciblue
Summary: Toby offers comfort to C.J. after lightening strikes twice at the Bartlet White House. PWP!





	Faith In Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cantbebovvered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantbebovvered/gifts).



> This is for cantbebovvered, who has no idea who I am, but recently wrote some smut involving these two and it's pretty much everything.
> 
> I recently watched "Evidence of Things Not Seen" for the first time and promptly listened to the West Wing Weekly where Richard Schiff said the following about his relationship with C.J., particularly in that episode:
> 
> "I didn’t remember doing the show but I remember when I watched it and I was quite fascinated with Toby’s disposition. He seemed to be a little more alive, he was chewing bubble gum, sucking on lollipops. He seemed to have a special appreciation for C.J. I remember the very last moment when I think I say, “Are you ok?” and she says, “Yeah,” and I just say, “Good night.” What I do remember, because I saw it, was a moment when I could have stopped and made a moment, and chose not to, because a moment would have been made. And that was too dangerous between us, I think."
> 
> Oops. I made that moment. And several more thereafter.
> 
> Oh also I don't own these characters - they belong to Aaron Sorkin.

You thought she’d gone home for the night, but just as you’re leaving you see her in the lobby and say goodnight again. _Are you ok?_ You hear her respond,  _of course_  but the pitch and tone are all wrong. 

As you exit the building together, she looks at you and promptly starts to lose it, shaking her head to properly answer your question. She had held it together the whole night – the poker game, the crashing, more press work on her night off – all of it, even your teasing her in her faith. She’s always been so strong, particularly under fire and especially around other people, which is why you are so shocked to see her start to cry. _Toby, I – the egg, I wish you could have seen it,_ sobbing uncontrollably. You do the only thing you can do. You hold her.

She doesn’t break the embrace, and you can feel tears soaking the collar of your shirt. _Will you take me home? I don’t think I can drive and I am afraid to be alone._ You nod. You could get to her place while blindfolded and one arm tied behind your back. She holds it together until you make it to your car, and then she continues to cry again. Never in your life have you ever seen CJ like this, so completely vulnerable and raw. 

 _I know I should be able to handle this_ ,  _I don’t know why I am crying so hard_. _I can’t stop_. You take her hand in yours after you park the car. You get out with her and walk her inside her place, where you prepare scotch rocks for you both. You both sit, and she drinks the scotch in one long sip, almost like a shot, and falls back onto the couch, eyes still leaky. She looks at you.

_Thank you for protecting me. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you. We almost lost Josh, and now this time, it could’ve been you or Will…I am so fucking afraid, Toby. How many more times is this supposed to happen? What if one of us isn't there to protect the other next time?_

Your love for her is implicit, always there, but never spoken. You hold your hand out to her and she takes it with both of her hands. She leans into you and holds you close, her feet tucked underneath her and her arms around your waist. You feel her listening to your heartbeat. Part of you wants to flee – you have stopped yourself from dreaming about what it would be like to be this closer to her so many times because you never knew it could be real – and part of you wishes it would never end. You never allow yourself to think that perhaps she loves you the way you love her. This is your last memory before you wake up at 3:47 am when you feel her shift over you.

If working at the white house has taught you anything, it is to catch sleep wherever and whenever you can, so it is no surprise to you that you’ve both passed out on the sofa. The one lamp is still on from earlier, but the apartment is dim. You’re still sitting, although on a diagonal, legs splayed under the coffee table, while she is curled up on her side, her head on your tummy. 

Quietly whispering her name, you stroke her hair and rub her shoulder. Looking up at you, she opens her eyes and asks you what time it is. You tell her she should go to bed and she nods. She stands up and holds her hand to you as an invitation: _please don’t go._ Her eyes tell you what she can’t say: I don’t want to lose you. I can’t be without you. Not right now. At least this is what you are hoping, although you wish the feelings had not been brought on by a maniac spraying bullets into your workplace.

You only offer her a small smile, afraid to read in too much to what her look says. Upstairs in her bedroom, she silently strips down to a camisole and practical cotton black bikini bottoms. You try not to stare too hard. Since you know full well you can’t get into bed wearing your work suit, undress to your plain white tee and chambray boxers. Thank god you didn’t wear embarrassing ones today, lord knows this has happened when you’ve gone too long without dropping off your laundry. 

You have been in bed with Claudia Jean Cregg exactly four times. Three times were early on in the campaign in New York in the late 80’s when you first met her. Tight budget, shared rooms, you two got along more than anyone else on the team and sometimes roomed together when you went out of New York City overnight. Nothing had happened, even though you’d wanted it to – she was always dating someone. How could she not have been, at the time, with her legs, and her hair, that brain, and that clever (and god willing, filthy) mouth of hers? 

The fourth and last time was during the Bartlet campaign, and you never told Andi. While you weren’t quite rolling in it, the campaign had more money than any other you’d ever worked on before, and if rooms were shared they were always a small suite or at least had two double beds. That time, someone had fucked up reserving the rooms and you’d somehow wound up together on some late night stop in the middle of who the fuck knows where. You’d all been too tired to give a shit, anyway and you wound up with C.J. That was years ago. If you were being completely honest with yourself, the memory had never strayed far from your mind. You remember catching furtive glances of her getting ready for bed and waiting until she passed out until you let yourself fall asleep. You wouldn't have ever dared to try anything even though you desperately wanted to. 

Here now, in her bed, she curls into you, her head on your chest, and you both drift back to sleep. 

You wake up in the morning and are spooning her. One of your arms is under her neck, the other wrapped around her front as she embraces you. Your cock is straining against your boxers, nestled in between her the cheeks of her round bottom. Two thin layers of fabric separating her body from yours. Very thin. Her breasts are rubbing against your arm. 

You glance at the clock. 7:03 am. She must not have bothered to set an alarm - today is both your days off, and while it _makes_ sense, you can’t believe you have overslept.  Also. You can’t believe how fucking hard you are and wonder how long it’s been since you _have_ been this hard. You’ve spent too many lonely nights home alone without the company of someone you care for. Your arousal is almost painful.

After allowing yourself one breath of her scent from the back of her neck, you make a move to try and slip out, but she holds onto you harder pushes her ass into your groin. You bite your lip to stifle a moan and shut your eyes. You try again to move and you hear her take her first deep breath of the morning. Shit.

She rubs her eyes with the back of one hand and turns her body towards you a little. _Hi._ Your face has a please-don’t-mind-my-dick-I’ll-be-out-of-your-hair-in-a-second look on it. She gives you a bit of a grin. You don’t try and read into it too much. _Are you feeling better?_ She nods and puts her arm around you and pulls you in for a hug. 

When you break the embrace, your faces are close—too close—with you hovering just above her with your eyes on her mouth. You spend a moment like this before her hand goes to cup your cheek as she smiles again. _Thank you for staying with me_. Many years later you will think back on this moment and wonder what on earth possessed you to take the next action, as before you realize what you’re doing, you place your lips on her warm ones for just a small moment.

Afterwards, you look into her eyes for a sign of anything wrong, but they tell you nothing of the sort. Her hand comes to the back of your head and she pulls you down for more. You kiss simply and plainly a few times before your lips part, giving way to open-mouthed kisses before you let your tongues explore. 

In a matter of minutes – who knows how long, exactly – you are on top of her with her hand up her flimsy tank top, feeling her up like a 13-year-old boy would his first girlfriend right after school but before his parents come home from work albeit with more finesse. You have never wanted to simultaneously ravage and worship any woman more than her, and you know you have to taste her. You wonder what her nipples would feel like in your mouth. 

The shirt is soon pushed up until it bunches up under her underarms, exposing her breasts – like perfect dollops of cream on her chest – and you eagerly take a small, pink nipple into your mouth.

Sighing contentedly beneath you, her fingers begin stroking your curls at the nape of your neck as you suck her nipples into hard nubs. You let go of one of her nipples with a pop, and look at her. Claudia Jean Cregg, stretched out before you – legs wantonly spread, lips swollen from kissing, t-shirt bunched up because both of you are so horny you can't be bothered to take it off yet. You hope you can remember this forever. 

Your hand makes its way from one of her breasts down her toned stomach to the edge of her underwear, where you play with the string on her hip. She is staring at you as if to say, _what are you waiting for, pokey?_ Your hand goes beneath the elastic to find the pool of wetness growing between her thighs and you hear her gasp when you reach it. You don’t stifle the moan this time – how could you, when she’s so aroused her outer labia can barely contain all her wetness? You feel that if you were to spread one of her lips it would just dribble down right to her tiny asshole. The thought is too much to bare. You want to show her how hard you can make her come.

You move up to lightly stroke around her clit, warming her up and introducing your fingers to her cunt. When you begin to really rub, sliding the hard nub in between your index and middle finger, she cries out and gasps. You continue this way for a few more moments until you feel like she is open and ready for your fingers, two of which you slowly put inside her.

You watch her hands float up to her breasts and palm them, eyes fluttering shut as she bites her lips. It is all too soon before you are plunging your fingers in and out of her, curling upwards towards her G spot, rubbing and massaging all of the delicious secret parts of her you wouldn’t ever dare admit you’ve wished for years you could touch. The ball of your palm does the job of hitting her clit with every pass. You can hear her wetness against your hand making the delicious sounds unique to fucking and it drives you wild. 

Watching the Press Secretary of the United States of America fall apart underneath your ministrations is beyond what you could have imagined: her back arches, her hands scramble for purchase along her bedding, her chest flushes. You can feel her cunt pulse and watch the muscles in her stomach flex. When her cries die down, you pull your fingers out and move to cup her vulva, still throbbing. You kiss again, passionately, languorously, greedily, with your hand still between her legs. 

She sits up, takes off her shirt, and begins to work on yours. You stand up and shed your boxers while she lifts her hips and rids herself of her underwear. Before you have a chance to really look at her cunt, her hand is on your cock, stroking you slowly, and you have to concentrate hard not to explode in her hand.

You climb back in bed and kneel between her legs to take a look at her. Propped up on her elbows, hair mussed, legs spread, her cunt finally visible to you. It is wet, red, sloppy, and swollen. It is beautiful. You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited to have sex, not even for your first time with Andi. You want to be able to look at her more clearly – to watch your fingers stroke and play with her folds, but there will be time later. At least you hope.

 _Do you want me inside you?_ She nods. _Do you have any --_ she interrupts you before you can finish: _I’m on the pill; I know you are healthy._ You hope you can last like that, naked inside her, as you think, _Oh. God._

She puts her hands around your neck and gently pulls you over her as you guide your cock to her entrance. Entering her slowly, you feel her sucking you in, desperate as you are, to be joined together. She lets out a soft whimper and tilts her hips up to encapsulate you completely. 

The pace you keep in the beginning is slow, tender, and exploratory. You have to take your time and make it good – you know if you started ravaging her immediately you’d come too quickly. And yet, all too quickly, the two of you become a frenzied mess, striving together for mutual satisfaction. Her fingers interlace with yours and her legs wrap around your waist as she squeezes your cock in her vice of a cunt while you tend to her with long, deep strokes. 

 _Claudia, I don’t think I –_ a breathy whine, before she interrupts you, offering her middle and index fingers for you to suck. You comply, and she snakes her wet fingers down to stroke her clit so she can join you in mutual release as you both are caught in wave after wave of pleasure. You hum and moan while you come, emptying yourself inside her, feeling her pulse around you. Afterwards, she kisses you deeply, while you pull her close to you in bed. 

You look at her for any signs of dissatisfaction, disappointment, or worry, but you are hard pressed to find any. Interlacing your fingers with her at both your hips, you offer her a rare, true Ziegler smile, which she matches with a more frequent, although no less special grin of her own. You continue to kiss, make love, and fuck all day, imbued with gratitude for cat-like reflexes, seedless rye bread, eggs regardless of whether they can stand on their end or not, antipodes, parsley dipped in saltwater, and most importantly: one another. You vow from that moment forward to never take her for granted again. 

 


End file.
